One evening in June 1875 a merchant specializing in collecting wills appeared in a small town in the southern valley of the Yangtze River. He decided to lodge in a small inn by the river surrounding the town. At midnight he went through the town’s streets and alleys and put on the walls a poster, which read:
Good are the words of a dying man, his will more precious than gold. Indeed the last words of a dying man are the most precious treasure he leaves behind to humanity. This merchant specializes in collecting wills at ten silver coins apiece. All wills are welcome. On-site service is provided. Contact: West Wing, New North Gate Inn.
The word spread fast and caused quite a stir in this small, quiet town. First people wanted to know if this was for real because, well, it sounded so ridiculous: someone wanted to buy wills! And at this high price; about 100 times higher than scrap copper or iron. Yet those who had visited New North Gate Inn would testify that it was for real. The merchant, who wore a red band around his forehead, not only told them he wasn’t joking, but also explained the rules of his trade: Not all wills are marketable. He buys only wills dictated to him directly by the dying men. That’s why he’s paying such a high price. Then, the merchant showed them the small rattle-drum in hand. It was quite a mysterious device. Once the will-bearing slip of paper was inserted in through a crevice and the drum rattled a few times, the will would stay in it forever. The drum could not be opened again, the merchant said.
Once the authenticity of the story was ascertained, the kind-hearted townspeople had many new doubts and suspected that it was some kind of hoax. First, why would anyone buy wills, of all things in the world? For that question, the merchant repeated what he said in the advertisement: There is nothing more precious in the world than a dying man’s last words. Then he asked: Can you name anything more precious than the last words of a dying man? What will he do with these wills? As a merchant he has to make money. But how? To whom will he resell the wills? Who will buy the wills at an even higher price? For all these questions the merchant dodged as much as he could. He did finally say, however: “Since it is I who pays you, not the other way round, what’s there to hoax you about?
Despite all the doubts and uneasiness townspeople had about the merchant, the one thing they were all absolutely positive about was: No one would sell his will to the merchant. No one would do so just because the merchant will pay him ten silver coins. Besides, a man’s will is private and may involve things a family would never want to share with outsiders. How can anyone tell such private matters to a merchant stranger?
The clockmaker living by the town’s gate turned out to be the first dying man since the merchant came. Like everyone else the clockmaker had felt what the merchant was doing was both ridiculous and suspicious and that no one would ever sell his will to him. However, as he was breathing his last, he suddenly asked his family to bring in the merchant: He wanted to sell his will. His family was vehemently opposed to it. With tears in his eyes, the clockmaker said: “This is my only wish before I die. Please don’t disappoint me.” So, his family brought in the merchant. The merchant spread a red cloth on his knee, jotted down the clockmaker’s last words on a slip of paper, watched him breathe his last, rolled the will up and inserted it into the drum, tossed ten silver coins on the table, and left.
Then, the most incredible thing happened: Every dying man would invite the merchant over to dictate his last words. Soon it became an indispensable ritual for any dying man in this small town. The merchant was thus established and his business became ever more in demand. People remained as puzzled as ever though: What does the merchant do with the wills he has bought? How can he make money? Why have all the dying men brought in the merchant and sold their wills to him?
One evening, the merchant left the town on a horse-drawn wagon. Shaking the rattle-drum in hand he would cry out: “Wills wanted, ten silver coins apiece!” As the townspeople watched the merchant leaving, watched him shaking that rattle-drum filled with wills, they wondered why they felt so uneasy in their hearts.
(2003)